


The Fall from Grace of Dr. Christopher Banning

by Cantatrice18



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Asylum, Gen, Missing Scene, Retribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning, Dr. Christopher Banning (head of London's most discreet asylum) has an unexpected visitor in his office: Sir Malcolm Murray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was half-past eleven on a rather grey Tuesday afternoon, and Dr. Christopher Banning had just finished his first cup of tea of the day. He always went through three cups, precisely – no more, no less. He was perusing a few reports left by the night shift of attendants when there was a knock at the door and his secretary entered. “My apologies, Doctor, but there is a man here to see you.”

“Ah, yes. Send him in.” Dr. Banning straightened the papers on his desk ever so slightly (it never hurt to make a good first impression) and stood as the door opened once more. “Come in, good Sir!”

A gentleman entered, dressed in a grey traveling coat over a black suit. A red silk vest added a spark of color, but any observer’s focus was instantly drawn to his sharp green eyes, set deep into his skull. His once dark hair and beard were graying, but neatly trimmed. As he approached, Banning found himself tilting his head up to maintain eye contact – the newcomer was easily six feet tall, probably more. “Please sit down, Sir Malcolm.”

Sir Malcolm hesitated a moment, his eyes darting around the room as though surveying it for any hidden traps, then obliged. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Why, of course, no trouble at all. It isn’t often we see the likes of Sir Malcolm Murray, African explorer and Knight of the Realm, in this building.” 

“No, I’d imagine not.” Sir Malcolm’s gaze lingered on Dr. Banning’s features and Banning had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being inspected. Finally, Sir Malcolm continued. “I’ve come to you on a matter of some importance. I’ve heard you specialize in cases of hysteria – fits of madness that overtake a seemingly normal individual, or bouts of violence from those who are otherwise docile.”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t say specialize is the right word,” Banning smiled, feigning modesty. “That said, I have had success with my methods.”

“And those methods are?” 

“It depends on the sort of hysteria, of course.” Banning stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “There’s the hysteria that originates in trauma, and then the sort that comes from a pre-existing mental deficiency…”

“I mean psychosexual. Female psychosexual hysteria, to be exact.”

“Ah. Well. That’s a very specific disease. It requires a very specific course of treatment, and I myself have designed the one in place here at our facility.”

“Have you, now.” Sir Malcolm did not seem at all surprised. “If you wouldn’t mind explaining it to me, I would be most grateful.”

“Well, let’s say that the patient is experiencing fits or seizures of a psychosexual nature. Our regimen would include an immediate administration of narcotics to affect the mind, followed by escalating hydrotherapy.”

“Ice baths.” 

“In some cases. Often a concentrated spray of cold water over the entire body is more effective. And the same sprays are applied to the pelvic region in order to achieve paroxysm in our female patients, which precedes a period of relative calm. This is in addition to pelvic massages which, we find, are the fastest and most effective way to calm an addled female mind.”

“I see.” Sir Malcolm’s face was impassive. “And if the patient remains intractable…?”

“It’s rare that we need to proceed to surgery, but in extreme cases we have the facilities to do so. I, myself, am a trained surgeon and perform the operations. They’re quite safe: we’ve never had a fatality.”

“Never? And who was the last patient who required such drastic treatment?”

“Sir Malcolm, please,” Dr. Banning chided, “I cannot reveal names. This is an institution that values the privacy of our patients and their families.”

“Of course, forgive me. I know you have…standards. I was merely looking for proof that methods such as yours are successful for, say, a young woman in her early twenties.” Sir Malcolm’s gaze now held such intensity it was impossible for Banning to look away. “Have you operated on a girl of that age, one with persistent fits of violence, in the last five years, perhaps?”

Banning swallowed hard; his mouth was suddenly dry and he cleared his throat before answering. “Yes, I performed a surgery on a young woman of that description, about two years ago now. She’d undergone several months of our best and strongest treatments, with no effect. Her fits were extreme and atypical; often her screams would wake the other patients, so we kept her in solitary confinement, where only the attendants could reach her. She needed a straightjacket or leather restraints day and night, and no amount of hydrotherapy cured her. We even considered electroshock, but as our facility is not equipped properly for that form of treatment I decided on trepanation instead.”

Sir Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Trepanation? You can’t be serious.”

Dr. Banning laughed, a bit nervously. “Oh, I assure you, Sir Malcolm, our methods are not those of the ancients. A special drill, patented only recently, is applied to the right side of the patient’s skull, above the ear, and a small hole is made in the bone. The pressure within the skull is thus relieved, and the brain’s function can resume without inhibition. I’m pleased to say that it is a most successful form of treatment, at least in the case of this young woman. The girl showed no signs of hysteria or seizure afterwards. We sent her home with her mother a month later, and haven’t heard from her since, which I take to mean that she has successfully transitioned back into normal life.”

Sir Malcolm’s smile held no warmth, and his eyes burned with a predator’s ferocity. “Quite an assumption. And you never thought to check and see how your work had turned out, to see if your surgery had been a success? I’m sure Mrs. Ives would have allowed that, for the sake of science if nothing else.”

Dr. Banning shrugged and attempted to sound offhand. “Mrs. Ives never contacted us. Anyway, we don’t make housecalls – far too much to do here, and understaffed to boot.”

“Ah, yes. Money is such a problem for these sorts of places. I assume you have a board of trustees, as well as a few patron donors? I believe Mr. Samuel Crawford is one of your trustees.”

“Right you are, Sir Malcolm.” Banning paused and leaned forward. “Normally I would never discuss such things, but as you’re a man of science and a Peer of the Realm, I feel I can trust you. You remember that electrotherapy I mentioned?” He waited until Sir Malcolm nodded, then continued. “Well, I feel it could be very useful to our patients, but the board has yet to approve my proposal, nor have they come up with the necessary funding. Recent tests in Europe have shown amazing results with electricity, the application of it to our more restive patients could make all the difference.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do.” Sir Malcolm stood and Banning quickly did the same. “Believe me, no one wants to see this institution get what it deserves more than I.”

“But Sir Malcolm—you aren’t leaving yet, are you? Why, we haven’t discussed the reason you came, the reason you sought me out.”

“The reason? It’s very simple. I came to be enlightened on a point of science, and you have done so, admirably.”

“I have?” Dr. Banning blinked bemusedly. “I mean, good, I have. Then I can count on you to speak with Mr. Crawford, on behalf of those interested in scientific progress?”

“I shall speak to the relevant persons as soon as possible.” Without looking back, Sir Malcolm crossed to the door and left, leaving Dr. Banning still standing rather awkwardly behind his desk. He sat back down in his leather chair with a sigh, and ruminated on the conversation that had just taken place. Not too bad, he decided: he’d managed to explain the workings of the asylum to an important and famous individual, and drum up support for his latest pet project at the same time. With luck, Sir Malcolm would do his remaining work for him with the donors, and he would have permission to buy the new electroshock equipment by the end of the month.

It was only later, as he was finishing his evening rounds of the women’s wing, that Banning remembered that he’d never mentioned Mrs. Ives by name…


	2. Chapter 2

Exactly one week after Sir Malcolm’s visit, Dr. Banning arrived at the asylum to find two unknown men waiting in his office. They introduced themselves as lawyers from Richmond and Associates, there on behalf of the board of trustees. The board, they said, had voted unanimously to remove him from his position as head of the asylum, and had given him until the end of the week to vacate the premises. Neglecting his usual routine of patient inspection, Dr. Banning hurried back outside and took the first cab he could find to the house of Mr. Crawford, head of the board. The butler politely but firmly informed him that Mr. Crawford was not interested in meeting with him, and shut the door on him, leaving him out in the cold. One by one, Dr. Banning sought out the homes of the trustees, only to be turned away each time. He was beginning to get truly desperate, when finally he spied one trustee leaving her mansion and walking towards the park. Mrs. Charles Foley was a widow and heiress, very dedicated to social causes, and a principal donor to the asylum. Throwing caution to the wind, Dr. Banning called out her name, running across the street and earning curses from the carriage drivers in the process, and finally stood before her, panting a little from exertion. Mrs. Foley regarded him coolly, her stern blue eyes scrutinizing him with displeasure. “Dr. Banning. I presume you have a reason for making such a display of yourself in this manner?”

“My apologies, Ma’am, for the impropriety. I’ve just come from visiting the other trustees, those in charge of the asylum, but have been unable to speak with any of them. There’s been the most terrible mistake.”

“There most certainly has,” Mrs. Foley interjected, and Dr. Banning smiled at her with ill-disguised relief. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you agree. This morning, when I heard—well, you’ll hardly blame me for my loss of composure. But it was all in error. I was a fool not to have seen that before.”

“You are many things, Dr. Banning, but a fool is not one of them. You are a degenerate, a fiend, perhaps even a lunatic yourself, but you are not a fool.” Mrs. Foley drew herself up so that she stared down at him with the utmost contempt. “A fool could never have tricked so many people into believing that your tortures were cures for the afflicted. A fool would have slipped up long before now. But the jig is up: my colleagues and I have proof that you are a fraud, that your methods are, at their best, useless, and quite often harmful to the innocent and helpless lunatics in your charge. Many were for having you arrested, but it was decided that, to spare the asylum’s reputation any more damage, you were to be disposed of as quickly and quietly as possible. Be thankful that the cooler heads prevailed, and kindly take your leave without further embarrassment to yourself or the institution which you so recently governed.”

“But—I—“ Dr. Banning couldn’t speak; shock had rendered him tongue-tied. It was only when Mrs. Foley turned to go that he recovered his voice. “Please, let me see this evidence of which you speak. I can prove to you that my methods are most successful, and that any claims otherwise are false, if you just—“

Mrs. Foley shook her head. “Enough. Go to the asylum, gather your things, and leave at once, or my peers and I will be forced to prosecute you for your offenses.”

Staggered, Dr. Banning watched Mrs. Foley depart, then slowly made his way back to the asylum. He arrived just before two, and found a gaggle of attendants waiting outside his door and talking hurriedly among themselves. When they saw him approach they immediately hushed, watching him with wide eyes and parting to let him pass. For some reason this behavior annoyed him immensely, and he glared at his chief assistant as he entered the office. The room was unchanged, except that an official notice of severance was laid out neatly on the desk, the papers signed by the chairman of the board. Dr. Banning glanced at the legal language on the top page and hastily shoved the papers into his jacket pocket. Wheeling about, he strode back out into the hallway, scattering attendants left and right until his eye caught that of his secretary. “Thomson, have my things gathered and sent to 56 Harley Street, care of Dr. Richard Braxton. He’ll know what to do with them. And for God’s sake, don’t let these imbeciles stand around all day – this is a medical facility! There’s work to be done.”

With that he departed, hailing the closest carriage and giving the driver his address. He would send a message to Braxton right away – Dr. Braxton was a good friend of his, and well respected in the medical community. With Braxton’s help, he ought to be able to restore his own reputation and get a better position than he’d held at the asylum. He’d show the board of trustees what sort of mistake they’d made in dismissing him. The thought of the trustees made him reach into his jacket and pull out the papers that had been left on his desk. As he did so a smaller paper, of a slightly different color, fell to the carriage floor. He leaned over and picked it up, smoothing the surface and holding it towards the window so that he had enough light by which to read it.

“Dear Dr. Banning,” it read, in neat letters that sloped slightly to the right. “Sincere condolences on your recent demotion. While it is certain that you will soon find gainful employment elsewhere, there are a few things of which you must be made aware.

1\. Your files pertaining to those patients who underwent trepanation have been removed and destroyed, as any evidence of such practices could diminish your standing in the greater medical community.   
2\. The files on Miss S. Dierdry, Mrs. H. Lowell, and Miss V. Ives have been examined and copied before their destruction. You are well aware of why this is.  
3\. If it should come to light that you are attempting to repeat your experiments in trepanation, or expand into shock therapy, these files will reappear at the nearest police station.

Best of luck to you in your search for a new position.”

The letter was unsigned. Dr. Banning sat back against the coach’s leather seats, feeling rather faint. This letter writer knew far more than he’d ever revealed to anyone. The orderlies knew of his surgeries on the most violent patients, but as for his treatment of those three women…well, he was not responsible for their condition, before or after. They were, after all, lunatics, and no worse off for being treated at the asylum than if they’d remained roaming wild and terrorizing their neighbors at home. He was folding the letter up, intending to put it into his pocket once more, when he noticed a post-script penned in red on the back of the page. As he read it his eyes widened in terror.

“A final note: if evidence is found that you intentionally kept any of the three women mentioned above in a state of pain or hysteria in order to advance your own research, the mangled remains of your body will be found floating in the Thames. That is all.”

The carriage stopped and Dr. Banning staggered out, shoving some bills blindly at the driver and walking in a haze to his front door. He knew without a doubt (though he could not say how) that the letter writer was serious in his threats. A part of him wished he’d never chosen to go into medicine, but rather something safe, like banking. He was not a brave man. He’d always thought that boldly rushing into danger was the most foolish thing a man could do, and even in his relations with patients he had never been alone with them for more than a few minutes unless they were restrained. Perhaps it was time to pursue another line of work. There were other, more conservative professions that he was sure could capture his interest. He made up his mind to talk with his friend Braxton about a desk job somewhere outside of London, perhaps in York. He had some distant family there that he could look up.

His mind full of plans, Dr. Banning retreated into his home and began to devise a new life for himself. 

…

On the other side of London, Sir Malcolm Murray was examining a file on Egyptology sent over to him from the British Museum. He stopped when he heard the front door open and turned to look. A moment later Vanessa entered the room, dressed in her usual black, with her hair pinned up casually so that a few stray curls tumbled down to frame her face. She leaned against the doorframe, an enigmatic half-smile on her lips. “The Doctor says it’ll take another two days before he gets everything he wants from those samples. And I’ve talked to Ethan. He’s considering it. I think he’ll come round.” She stopped, frowning, and straightened up. “Are you alright? You seem…”

Sir Malcolm had been watching her with a faraway look in his eyes. At her words he seemed to come back to his senses. He cleared his throat and nodded curtly. “Quite alright, thank you.”

“Well, I’d better get dressed for the evening then. Unless our dinner plans have changed?”

He shook his head and watched her leave, his eyes remaining on the place where she’d been long after she was gone from sight. Then, rising slowly from his chair, he followed her out.


End file.
